Crowns, Wands and Magic Tricks
by The Last Deathly Guardian
Summary: In a time of war, trust was a luxury that Sofia did not have. Especially when lies and deceit were the bread and butter of her trusted advisers.


**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Sofia the First or Gravity Falls.**

* * *

 **Crowns, Wands, and Magic Tricks**

"Who are you?" she asked, eyes narrowed distrustfully.

He leered at her. _"Anyone you want me to be, kitten."_

 **Chapter One**

When she looked at the mirror that morning, the girl that stared back at her was a shadow of her former self. Her skin was as pale a paper, as if all the colour had been sapped slowly out of it. There were noticeable bags under her eyes which were red and puffy from crying bitter, mournful tears the night before. She swept a careful hand through her hair, which was in a state of utter disarray with the strands poking from all directions, and had it been just another morning in the past, she would have been beside herself in laughter at how silly she looked.

The thought stilled her hand, and she returned it back to her side, where it limply hanged there like an tool she did not know what to use for.

Like how she did not know what to do with herself.

She stood there for who know how long, staring at her defeated reflection, wondering where had the cheerful commoner gil Sofia who had been delighted to become a princess disappeared to be replaced by this jaded crowned princess of Enchancia. The spark in her caramel coloured eyes seemed to have died entirely, and Sofia mourned once again the lost of her freedom, the lost of unconditional love from her family and the lost of her innocence due to the war. Reality was a cruel mistress, and had beaten her down with the knowledge of spilt blood, burning fires of hatred and screams of anguish. Pain. Suffering. Revenge.

A hesitant knock on the door dispelled her from the dark direction of her thoughts. Sofia sat down heavily a chair, drained from the sudden heady rush of emotion that had briefly stole over her. She buried her head in her hands, the feel of an oncoming headache souring her mood even further.

"May I come in, Princess?" His voice was slightly muffled by the door, but she knew it was unmistakably Baileywick coming to check on her. "Princess Sofia?

"Come in, Bailywick," she absentmindedly said, not turning around to acknowledge him when he entered the room. Annoyed, she distantly wondered why he was here, so sudden and intrusive in her private moment with the mirror. She thought bitterly she would have more time to prepare herself, mentally and physically, for what must come next.

The wall clock with its disfigured hands and Roman numbers, mocked her.

Baileywick crossed her room in a few short strides to stand behind her; the mirror image of a tall, thin man in a smartly dressed black uniform with white greying hair was reflected. Sofia chose not to say anything for a while, wanting to drown herself in her self pity, though the presence of Baileywick's usual brimming confidence beside her made it more difficult to do so.

It reminded her so much of her younger self; confidence had flowed easily to her then. That precious time before her mother married King Roland, her life was simple as a village girl. She knew the role she was born to play at the back of her hand; she had been content with her life.

And a crown was all it took to take away all of the normalcy in her life.

The fingers on her lap dug deeply into the thin fabric of her dress, as she took a shuddering breath. She gave a startled jump when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Princess," Baileywick said, not unkindly. "I hate to say it but it's time."

A sliver of panic rose up in her, the elephant in the room that she had desperately tried to avoid thinking about taking precedence in her mind, and she felt herself tense like a coil of wire. _I'm not ready!_ her mind screamed at Baileywick, and Sofia tried to stifle the urge to cry. _I'll never be ready._

Not for the first time, Sofia cursed Amber for leaving her alone with the wretched throne.

But as soon as she thought of that, she felt the immeasurable weight of guilt. It was not in her nature to blame others, never has been never will be. Yet, the tightening of her chest as she thought about her coronation told her the truth her mind did not want to acknowledge. She did not want to be here. She never want to be here. If things were different, if Amber were not married to Desmond, if James had not gone missing for nearly two years, if her parents were not recently taken from her, if this awful war had not erupted in the first place, she would not be here. She could have lived her life without taking on the burden of the throne and the people. For a brief moment, she entertained those selfish thought buried deep inside of her.

However, like how difficult it was her to cling to hate those thoughts sunk again into the depths of her mind, leaving her momentarily cold and alone.

"Baileywick, could I," Sofia took in a deep breath to compose herself, thickly swallowing down her tears. "Could I please have a minute to myself? I won't be long." She tried for a smile, which looked more like a grimace.

"Of course. I'll be right outside if you need me." Baileywick left, albeit reluctantly and she was alone again. Sofia ran a hand through her hair as she reached over for a comb, slowly using her last precious minute of freedom to make herself somewhat presentable for the ceremony.

When Baileywick finally came to retrieve her, Sofia cast one last glance at the mirror before leaving her room.

* * *

Hollow was what the place was like to her at the moment, so hollow that even the ghosts of merriment that used to lingered within the crevices of the walls seemed to have fled away, as if some greater force had displaced them. Or maybe not some greater force, but her own expounding melancholy and bitterness had washed these once golden halls with bland colours and half-light. The palace was never a desolated place to begin with, what with the hustle and bustle of the servants catering to the castle day into night. Yet being alone does changes ones perception of things, some for the better and for others, the worse.

She begun to think herself party to the latter category, she did not see anything that might lighten her situation at all. She was left blindly groping at the dark, with no family, few friends and fewer allies in this sick reality that she has entered. And somehow, somehow at the age of eighteen, she was suppose to bare with it all, smiling as if she did not harbor this intense feeling to scream at the world in its haughty unfairness.

Baileywick had disappeared from her side somewhere along the way, leaving with no one to see her inner turmoil except the paintings of royals of the old. And as their deadened eyes and false looking sympathy watch her silently head towards the gallows of her innocence, the weight of loneliness clinged to her like a leech ready to take everything and give nothing in return.

Sofia took in a deep breath as the anthem sounded, and the door to the throne room opened in one sweeping flourish.

 _From the silver flying horses_

 _Of the ever golden glades_

 _To the dragons on the cliff tops_

 _Of the blazing palisades_

 _Enchancia, Enchancia_

 _Come hear our humble call_

 _Enchancia, Enchancia_

 _A land for one and all_

Sofia hummed softly under her breath as she walked down the aisle, the royal guards finely dressed in their handsome red and gold uniforms stood in attention, their glinting steel swords raised above her head like an arc of protection.

 _Where the valiant knights protect us_

 _From the darkest evil spells_

 _And your wishes all come true here_

 _If they're made in wishing wells_

She could make out the various ministers, lords and ladies and other distinguished guests dressed in their finery as she watched them discreetly with her head angled towards the throne. They all bore the same grim expression, and she steeled herself not to fall underneath the weight of their expectations.

It did not go unnoticed that her own sister was absent, along with the other royal in the family; Aunt Tilly.

She pretended not to feel how her heart squeezed painfully at that.

 _Enchancia, Enchancia_

 _A beacon shining bright_

 _Enchancia, Enchancia_

 _Where all our dreams take flight_

As the last note of the anthem ended, Sofia was seated on the throne, her back straight and posture rigid as she faced the crowd with a slight smile, however fake, on her face.

She turned her attention to the Archbishop, who was a wizened old man with a fashionably trimmed white beard, dressed intimidatingly in his flourishing white robes. His black beady eyes fixed upon her intently, the thick glasses that he did nothing to lessen the intensity of his gaze.

She smiled unsurely at him, somewhat unnerved.

When he finally turned to face the crowd, she could not help releasing a quiet sigh of relief, and in a grave, hypnotic voice he began to speak:

"Sirs, I here present unto you

Queen Sofia,

your undoubted Queen:

Wherefore all you who are come this day

to do your homage and service,

Are you willing to do the same?"

His words rang throughout the hall, clear spoken as the sky was blue. Sofia kept her eyes fixed on a distant spot on a wall ahead of her, ready for the disheartened cheer that was surely to come. She would not blame them, she was already expecting it. They were making her Queen in a time of war and strife.

Was there a reason to celebrate?

"Long Live Queen Sofia!"

Distantly, she heard the trumpets sounding, as the reality of everything finally came crashing down. Her hands were shaking, and she tried to hide them by pressing them firmly against her lap.

 _Coronation Oath._

All of a sudden, she seemed short out of breath. Her throat felt constricted, her tongue dry as the Tangu desert. And when the Archbishop turned his attention on her with his eerily knowing look, her heart rate sped up, the harsh beating of her heart against her ribcage not exactly a comforting feeling.

"Madam, is your Majesty willing to take the Oath?"

There was no turning back after this. Sofia swallowed with difficulty. If she answered to agree, she will be forever bound to the service of her country for the rest of her life, until she had an heir as her successor.

Or until she died.

However, if she answered to disagree…She put an end to that thought, no matter how she longed to let those words pass her lips. It was, in short, unthinkable.

Her country needed her, her people needed her, her family needed her…she could not fail them.

Not now, not ever.

Steeling herself, she finally said, "I am willing."

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern Peoples of Enchancia and of your Possessions and other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?"

"I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

"All this I promise to do."

Rising from the throne, the Archbishop gave her the orb and scepter, and she held them as she said the final words, "The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. Futuris Fortuna!"

"Futuris Fortuna!"

As the crowd cheered on halfheartedly, Sofia could not help but think of herself standing in front of them in chains. The weight of the orb and scepter certainly felt like it, handcuffs placed upon her hands to restrain her freedom of movement. And a crown to restrain her freedom of thought.

She no longer belonged to herself.

Her fate as Queen of Enchancia was sealed.

* * *

The rest of the day passed by in a blur.

Meeting with foreign dignitaries, representatives of allied kingdoms, ministers, lords and ladies, and other people within the higher ranks, had come to offer their congratulations. Most of the time she worked to return the congratulations with a smile and a nod, but she was beginning to get tired of keeping up her act. What she wanted most right then was to lock herself inside her room, away from these expectant gazes of these strangers who she was meant to rule over now. 'Let me deal with them tomorrow,' her mind pleaded what she could not say aloud, 'I've done enough as it is. Let me rest.'

She should have quashed any hope of resting after that thought as Baileywick steered her towards the ballroom, hours of festivities and mingling stretching ahead of her.

Sofia had allowed herself to enjoy the coronation ball, taking pleasure in seeing the ballroom shining in all its glory. Golden streamers raced down from the top to almost the bottom of the hall, glittering in refined splendour. Buffet tables filled with mouth-watering delicacies of the kingdom, as well as pretty cakes and scones were arranged in a masterful display that left her guests eager to eat. A nearby table had a fountain of chocolate, the sight of it exquisite to her eyes. Red, succulent strawberries were placed around it, and she helped herself to the little chocolate treat, closing her eyes in bliss.

Yet, now after hours of entertaining guests and fancy food, she found herself perched against the refreshment table with a slim glass of sparkling cider in her hand, after managing to escape the clutches of some merchants from the village. Sofia took that moment to breathe. Tiring was an understatement. Exhausting was more appropriate. Her feet ached from walking and dancing in heels, and all she wanted to do now was to sleep.

She glanced up at the windows, relieved at the fact that it showed an evening sky rather than a late afternoon that she had dreaded. It meant that she could retire for the day (she ignored the little voice in her head that told her it also meant she had been there for nearly a whole day), thus sending a nearby servant to inform Baileywick where she went and asked that dinner be sent up to her room, she left the ballroom with none in the room the wiser.

As she left behind the raucous celebration, Sofia instantly felt the pang of silence that followed her as she passed silently through the deserted hallways. The paintings she had passed by earlier in the day looked more shadowy and sinister. Sofia shivered in revulsion, half-convinced that their dead painted eyes were following her as she walked. It was a relief when the hallway ended, and the familiar sight of her room door greeted her.

After the rough day that she had, it warmed her a little, thinking of her bed and Clover who was sure to be waiting for her inside.

But when she opened the door, she thought about none of these things, as a hand clamped over her mouth, effectively muffling her instinctive scream.

She squirmed, trying to free herself from the grip around her waist. Her heart raced wildly as she felt a hot breath ghosted next to her ear, already thinking of the worse. This was bad, this was bad, this was bad, this was ba-

"Stop squirming," the intruder said, the voice rich and smooth, and undoubtedly masculine. Sofia did the opposite of what she was told, and wiggled more vigorously. She heard him sigh as he tightened his grip. "I promise to let you go if you don't scream. Deal?" he said, the threat in his voice obvious if she did not listen. She nodded.

The moment he released her, she backed as far away as she could from him.

He watched her, an eerie golden eye trailing after her, in what she assumed to be, amusement.

Feeling slightly confident with the space she placed between them, she faced him determinedly with her back facing the window. "Who are you and what do you want?" Sofia said, covering up her nervousness and fear with the false confidence she didn't have. Unconsciously, she had slipped into a readied stance, tense and alert to run if she needed to.

He continued to watch her, cocking his head to the side as if she was some interesting lab experiment.

Sofia began to feel irritated when he didn't answer. "I asked you a question," she bit out, the silence grating on her nerves. "What do you want?"

"As cliche as this sounds," he said, his lips quirking up as if he found all of this funny. "I need your help."

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 **Like. Review. Follow.**

 **A/N:** Hello dear readers, or the more appropriate term would be, dear readers who are daring enough to pick up this hybrid of strangeness. This is an unexpected crossover, though I posted this story for my own amusement than for cultivating reviews and followers. However, those are good too. One could never get enough reviews. :)

A word about the coronation, which some lines are taken directly to the coronation of Queen Elizabeth (I am not so sure about which one) although if you are one to look into detail about anything, you would notice that some lines are absent. Especially the part about the church. I try to avoid doing bringing religion into things, even though it is a coronation transcript, can turn any story nasty. So, yeah.

Until the next update. Happy reading.

-The Last Deathly Guardian

 _Futuris Fortuna -_ [Latin] Future Fortune


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